The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(19)

Chapter Four

Ellie’s moment of triumph was fleeting. The surge of satisfaction she’d experienced on escaping her captors and alerting the English patrol boats to their presence quickly faded in the icy embrace of the turbulent sea.

Ironically, it wasn’t the cold, exhaustion, or strong currents that defeated her, but something much more inauspicious. The small cramp started in her side, then radiated through the rest of her body like a knife, cutting off control of her muscles in one vicious slice. One minute she was treading water, the next she couldn’t move.

For a moment she thought it would be all right. The pirate captain was coming after her, swimming at a pace that seemed impossible. When their eyes met, she’d seen something. Pirate or not, she was certain he wouldn’t let her die.

But then she saw the other man. A second man had jumped in after her and was flailing behind him. When the captain glanced in her direction again, she realized what he was going to do. It was between her and his man.

His man won.

Not that she blamed him for the choice. She’d done this to herself.

Stay afloat. He’ll come for you.

But her time had run out.

A few moments after he’d disappeared underwater, her stomach buckled and her limbs tightened up as if she’d been hit with a bolt of lightning. Unable to fight back, the water dragged her under.

She waited for the pathway to heaven to appear in a beam of light. For the happy memories to assail her. For the sense of peace to overtake her. But as the water filled her lungs to burning, as panic set in, and as her eyes widened in the watery blackness, all she could think of was that this was a horrible way to die.

Especially when she’d barely had a chance to live.

Erik kept his eyes peeled on the churning waves, refusing to give up so easily. She couldn’t have been under that long.

Domnall held out his hand to pull him back in the birlinn, but Erik shook him off. “Give me a minute.” Out of the corner of his eye something pale—a hand?—flashed in the darkness. “There!” he said. “Did you see that?”

“There’s no time, Captain,” Domnall said, pointing ahead of them. “We need to get out of here. They’re almost on us.”

He knew Domnall was right, but he couldn’t leave her—even if he should for bringing the English down on them. He couldn’t shake the memory of the look in her eyes when their gazes had met. He knew that if he didn’t find her, that look—that silent plea—would haunt him forever.

“Raise the sail,” he told Domnall. “And be ready.” An interesting night was about to get even more so.

He took off in the direction he’d seen the movement, a sudden burst of energy giving strength to his flagging limbs. He dove under the waves, fishing around underwater until his persistence was rewarded and his fingers tangled in a watery clump of long hair. A moment later, his arm circled her waist and he shot back to the surface.

She was facing away from him, but he could hear the sweet sound of her sputtering and gasping for air. He’d reached her in time. Holding her so close, he was sharply aware of the race of her heart and the delicate weight of her small br**sts on his arm as her chest heaved with the effort to greedily suck in air.

“Easy,” he soothed, his mouth grazing her ear. “You’re safe, te bheag.” Little one. The endearment slipped out without him realizing it.

She settled in his arms like a babe, and it was with some reluctance that he handed her over to his men.

As Domnall reached over to drag the lass into the boat, Erik eyed the approaching galleys. The English were almost on top of them. He had a minute—maybe seconds—before they were in range of the English bows. A few minutes after that, and the boats would be surrounding them.

Sailing north into the wind was no longer an option. The galleys had great oar power, and Erik didn’t have room to attempt to beat into the wind by zigzagging back and forth. Nor did he have time to turn around in the direction from which they’d come and try to outrun them. To the south was Ireland and its rocky shoreline.

Already anticipating what they thought was his only move, the English ships had spread out to the length of an arrow’s flight between them. If he attempted to sail between them, his birlinn would be showered with arrows from two sides. The galley on his right had angled slightly toward the coast, ready to cut off any attempt to slip around him.

Erik’s options were quickly dwindling. The English galleys were converging around him, the middle boat staying slightly back as the other two pulled forward to circle around him like a noose. But he had no intention of sticking around for the hanging.

He grasped one of his men’s hands and heaved himself over the wooden railing. Even as his feet hit the deck, he was shouting orders and taking control of the ropes. A fur was thrown around his shoulders, but the cold was the least of his concerns right now.

He could feel the energy in the boat crackle with excitement as the men realized what he was going to do. It was bold and daring—even for him.

Nothing like the straightforward surprise attack, he thought with a smile of anticipation. The quickest way out of this was to head right into the middle of the trap they thought they’d laid for him. He just had to get there before the two outside ships could adjust and cut him off.

It would be close, but close was what made life worth living. He felt the sharp gust of wind at his back and smiled, knowing the gods were with him.